Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant
by SugarPesticide
Summary: After a thousand long years, Princess Luna was finally freed from Nightmare Moon and welcomed back to Equestria. But she became Nightmare Moon for a reason, didn't she? What if Luna wanted to take over Equestria even before she succumbed to jealousy? Now Luna must write in her new diary while plotting her takeover of Canterlot.
1. Entry One

_June 21, 1000 ANM_

It displeases me greatly that the Equestrian calendar marks the date of my little mistake. It is true that turning to a parasitic demon for an ally turned out to be an awful idea, but if it were the other way around, they would mourn, wouldn't they? Referring to the date in terms of "After Solar Flare" or "Daymare Sun," or something equally stupid. Such a phrase would bring mourning rather than celebration to the little ponies, despite its completely ridiculous nature. At least the name of Nightmare Moon inspires fear love in my subjects.

Perhaps I should explain myself. I am currently trapped in the body of an awkward excuse for a teenage princess, thanks to Sister Dearest and the Elements of Harmony. I have yet to decide whether this is an improvement over my previous form or not. This body is lanky and clumsy, hardly proper stature for a ruler of Equestria (especially when compared to Sister Dearest); the other was a blasted perversion of my true self, inclined to cannibalism and other atrocious appetites. Yes, I am well aware that I should wholeheartedly reject the mere concept of the latter, but this unfamiliar body has caused me to trip far too many times in the too-large roads of Ponyville Square, causing considerable embarrassment thanks to everypony with the ability to watch my flailing about. I cannot fathom how I managed to drag myself from place to place when I was truly a pubescent pony.

No, that complaint is hardly sums the situation up. It is my fondest wish to overthrow Sister Dearest from her reign of sickening softness, and this is my record wherein I may detail my rise to the seat of power above the grand Lunar Republic. The title is a misnomer, of course, for what sort of fool would foist power onto the common pony? The very idea is madness. A government requires a single soul to steer at its helm, one far more educated on affairs of the state than the rest of the land, in order to quickly and accurately ascertain what is best for the land. Rest assured I will be a most benevolent tyrant, permitting these ponies to live in exactly the way they have lived previously — breathing, socially dependent, and in a quiet desperation. The common pony is kind, but stupid and naïve, and Sister Dearest believes she is a perfect match based on those criteria alone.

But such cannot, neigh, _must_ not last. I, Princess Luna Nocturne Cosmos of the Equestrian Empire, do hereby solemnly vow to overthrow my elder sister in a glorious display of power and wit, cementing myself as the sole ruler of this world! Yet it is best to begin small, so I shall firstly set my sights on the seat of power itself. When my takeover of Canterlot is complete, I shall be in a prime position to turn to other juicy prospects. Until then, I shall be patient. I shall formulate the perfect plan, deviously plotting my rise to sole ruler of Canterlot! I shall find minions who will eagerly do my bidding, for I am sure there are many lurking in the shadows beneath the sun. Who can resist the sad story of poor lonely Princess Luna?

...

Hmm. Perhaps I should not dwell to much on that question, for doing so is awfully depressing. In any case, fatigue demands that I must adjourn to my bedroom, where I shall hide this record in a safe place. Sister Dearest must not suspect my insurrection. I must postpone recounting today's events until tomorrow.

Adieu, good diary and gentle readers.

_To Sister Dearest: if you are reading this diary without my permission, the joke is on you! The Poison Joke, to be precise. This should teach you not to poke your skinny nose into the affairs of others, I do believe._


	2. Entry Two

_June 22, ANM_

It is with the deepest shame that I realize perhaps hiding this diary in a pile of powdered Poison Joke was not the finest of my ideas. My glorious voice, ordinarily bold and noble even without being Royal and Canterlotian, has exploded into a noise so raucous that I cannot even speak in an attempted whisper without leveling the contents of any room I happen to be visiting at the moment. Though this might be an unusual and interesting method of beginning an early takeover, the prospect of deafening anypony, even Sister Dearest, is counterintuitive and would ultimately accomplish no purpose. As such, I am forced to keep my mouth shut and mainly remain in my quarters lest I accidentally let slip some order or admittance of gratitude.

Sister Dearest believes that I am also incapable of raising the moon in my current state. Such an idea is foolish, I would tell her if possible. I was younger than I currently appear when I orchestrated my first moonrise. Has my cutie mark vanished from my flanks? Of course not. Therefore I see no reason why I cannot do such a task for myself, unless such is also a symptom of the cursed Poison Joke.

Currently, however, Sister Dearest tells me to stay in bed most of the day while she provides me with food and entertainment. I am careful to write within these pages during her few moments away from this place, as I am thoroughly unwilling to give her any reason for suspicion. As long as she is ignorant or my goals, I can take all the time I require to invent and execute a satisfactory plan.

Let me continue my recollections of the previous day; my memory is as crisp and perfect as an apple, so my gentle readers may be fully confident in my in the validity of my story. My union with the parasite, that cursed Nightmare, was blessedly ended at the hooves of the Bearers of Harmony. The strain of keeping myself whole and sane ended in that purifying ray of colors, and my utter exhaustion took its toll as I was freed, forcing me into my first rest in over a millennium. Never again shall I take for granted the necessity for constant sleep that mortal ponies have been cursed with.

Upon waking, I was terrified to discover my sister standing over me. Terror, however, shifted into a pleasing triumph as she extended the hoof of friendship to me, assuming that my intentions of dooming the world to eternal night was solely the result of the Nightmare's taint. (And in a way I suppose it was, though I cannot now relate that story in a way that intersects neatly with this one.) Heartfelt gratitude burst from my lips as I was welcomed back into her confidence — yes, this is true! Can any ordinary creature fathom the relieving effects of waking from that hideous Nightmare, surfacing from the depths of lightless madness and back into the gentle rays of the sun, where that smiling angelic face is the first thing to welcome you to the morning? No, I am not ashamed to admit my relief. My sister is not a repulsive being in all of her folly, and I shall not punish her harshly for her misguided attempts at coddling the common ponies.

Once Sister Dearest had calmed herself sufficiently, she was kind enough to teleport ourselves and the Bearers of Harmony back to the little province of Ponyville. As we appeared quite suddenly in the town hall, and as the ponies taking refuge there were understandably upset even in the wake of the would-be eternal night, a minor fracas was caused as soon as we arrived. Fortunately Sister Dearest managed to soothe the ponies before they could form an impromptu stampede, a skill which I have yet to learn. (It will be an essential skill to have once I have successfully conquered Canterlot with the appropriate doomsday devices.) Upon receiving a brief explanation of the events of my purification, the ponies were no less than thrilled to welcome a new princess into the ranks of the monarchy.

This was, of course, exactly what I was hoping to hear. My task of conquering Canterlot will be much simpler to accomplish without a cold eye of suspicion leering in my direction at every turn. With this in mind, I had no trouble allowing myself to get swept up in the festivities, putting aside any planning that would need to be done. After my awful ordeal with the Nightmare, I felt that I had certainly earned a chance to join in the festivities.

Of note is the orchestrator of the partying: an earth mare called Pinkamena Diane Pie, notable as the Bearer of Laughter. Her ability to suddenly appear in unlikely places is intriguing to say the least, as is her boundless energy. It is unlikely that anypony in Equestria has been able to sleep in the last twenty-four hours, considering the necessity of preparing for the Summer Sun Celebration, and yet Pinkamena appears to be as fresh and ready for action as if she had just leapt from her bed. Perhaps there is some mechanism or substance in Equestria that has been invented for just such a purpose. If so, I must discover it immediately, for it will undoubtedly be useful in my quest for domination.

Also of note is the instance in which a pair of fillies came forth to provide my neck with an exquisite rose garland. I assume the deep red roses represent the dark past between Equestria and myself that will henceforth be left to itself, while the soft white roses are instead a light of hope for the future that we may share together. I am not sure I can wholeheartedly appreciate this simplistic binary symbolism of darkness being evil and light being good, but I can appreciate the gesture nonetheless. In any case, I was glad that no thorns had been left behind to scratch uncomfortably at my neck, although of course I did not dwell on their absence for long. Only an utter sissy would be so ungrateful as to actively consider the potential presence of thorns in such a gracious gift.

The festivities were otherwise rather ordinary, not much more active than the solstice celebrations a thousand years ago (though their spirited atmosphere was no less notable). I learned the names of the other Bearers of Harmony; of note is the Bearer of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, the prized student of Sister Dearest. Considering her name, cutie mark, and aptitude for magic, I am forced to wonder if Sister Dearest did not intend for Twilight Sparkle to be a replacement sister. This seems unlikely, since her acceptance into her school for gifted unicorns was nine hundred and ninety years after my banishment; if she truly wished to replace me, it seems much more likely that she would have decided on take on a pony for such a role several hundred years earlier.

Yet doubt creeps at my thoughts even as I write this, wondering if such an action was taken to playfully spite me. It is certain that with some effort and practice, Twilight Sparkle could easily gain the fear love that I have always sought from the common pony. There is no chance that Sister Dearest is not aware of this possibility. Could she actually intend Twilight Sparkle to undergo the Rite of Ascension? As one who has felt her power as the Bearer of Magic, I believe she would be an ideal candidate, and this honestly worries me. The Rite of Ascension has not taken place in over eleven hundred years. Equestria does not need more demigods to crowd the throne, of this I am certain. This would be a poor decision on the part of everypony involved, and I must take care to have Sister Dearest postpone it until I can rise to domination.

Fortunately, Sister Dearest has gone out of her way to make this task easier for me. By her own royal decree, she has declared that Twilight Sparkle shall remain in Ponyville to study the magic of friendship, the most potent of all magic. While this development could eventually forge Twilight Sparkle into my most serious rival, it shall have to be enough for now. With her separate from Canterlot, my task is already far easier. No studious unicorn, intelligent or otherwise, can stop me now!

Returning to the events of yesterday, we departed by chariot a few hours before sunset, at which point I fell asleep for the entirety of the journey to my new home. I suppose I should have forced myself to remain awake in order to study the subtle changes the landscape has undergone, but again, my exhaustion from the Nightmare prevailed. There would be plenty of time later to examine what advances Equestria has seen during my imprisonment, so I slipped into a sweet dream that somehow escapes my memory. I must regain my ability to dreamwalk within the year, or else I will surely grow bored with the predictability of the waking realm.

Upon my return to consciousness, I found myself in a grand bed with night-blue coverings, situated nicely within a room of similar décor. The personalization pleased me, and I found myself sinking comfortably back into the mattress, nearly prepared to once again lose myself to the siren song of sleep.

It was then that this very book caught my eye: an unused diary, its cover decorated with a full moon. Much to my confusion, the moon bore the dark relief of a unicorn mare's head. Presumably the mare is a representation of myself during my incarceration, though I cannot tell how my head is meant to be equal in size to the moon. Understanding this to be a less-than-subtle jab at my failings, I scowled and with my magic picked up the note lying innocuously next to this diary, which I have attached here with a remarkable invention that the few servants I have yet seen call tape.

_To Luna:_

_I hope you feel better quite soon! We have much to discuss about Equestria and the state of affairs when you awake. Not to mention that I wish to spend lost time with my baby sister as soon as possible!_

_As you may have noticed, I have given you this diary for your own use. In it I would like you to write whatever you wish — hopes, thoughts, dreams, anything! Studies have shown that writing on a day-to-day basis allows individuals to grow creatively, mentally, and in any way you could wish. In particular I would like for this diary to track your progress as you readapt to society, but as it is for your personal use I will not be obnoxious and decide to start checking up on it behind your back. You may think this is a silly little experiment of mine, but it really does work! Please begin writing as soon as you feel up to it._

_Your loving sister, Celestia_

As I indeed have need to get used to the workings of modern Equestria, not to mention plotting the downfall of my poor naïve sister, I decided to indulge Sister Dearest in her silly little experiment. There is no harm in it, for I am certain she will keep her word. Thus here I sit, writing down my hopes, thoughts, and dreams.

Today has been far less eventful. After my foolishness with the Poison Joke, I have attempted to remain confined to my quarters. Sister Dearest, however, was happy to parade me about the palace about half an hour ago, spouting random facts about how the castle was established. Being spotted in this awkward body was quite enough to keep me silent and sullen, quite aside from the poisonous joke that has been played. As such I did not pay any attention to her ramblings, though of course I should have. Any information is useful information at this point.

As it is, I do not have much time. Soon Sister Dearest will return, and I must hide this diary in a more fitting place until the morrow. Until then, I will begin to pay more attention to my surroundings, delving into actual interaction once I have taken the cure for my deplorable condition.

Adieu, gentle readers.


	3. Entry Three

_June 23, 1000 ANM_

At last! Freed from the foul curse of the Poison Joke, I can now speak my mind whenever I may choose without consequence! Or at least I would, if I wished to make a complete fool out of myself by revealing all of my plans to every random passerby. At least I may communicate in a manner that is not completely tedious.

I began this day soaking in a refreshing herbal bath to cure myself of my affliction, although I love that I may have broken a mirror or two in the process in my impatience to see whether I was already returned to my normal state. When tentatively questioned by my maids, whose names I really must learn within due time, I stated that I had broken them in my frustration (true) and that I was sorry (also true) that I had already caused a kind of distress within the palace. (This was more of a lie, because after they had left I realized that if the broken mirrors have been taken in symbolically, the staff will soon realize that only I can help them in breaking out from their miserable states of denial and self-loathing. This line of reasoning, dear reader, may seem a bit of a stretch, but being one step ahead of your rival sometimes requires taking unlikely roads of logic.)

I emerged from the bath refreshed and prepared to once again plot and plan as only a princess can. Sadly, my dear sister had other ideas. As soon as I was finished, she quickly whisked me away to the kitchens, where she insisted on having me try some odd modern dish.

"Well, it's not modern _per se_," she remarked, trying to correct me. "Actually, it's been around for millennia — it was an ancient delicacy in Yakoslavia long before strife began between the three pony tribes. It's only recently that the dish has come into Equestria thanks to trade routes being opened about six hundred years ago."

"It still disturbs me." I prodded the tall stalks of the flowering plants, eying their fluffy white flowers as they bounced lightly in response. "What is it?"

"_Krascheninnikovia_."

"Pardon? Crash in any what?"

She stifled a giggle with one of those slender white hooves. I tried to bristle but failed miserably, to the point that I could not conceal a grin of my own. There is little in the world more pleasing to the eye or ear than Sister Dearest giggling, which is never in mockery but rather in love, with joy first and sometimes amusement second. She may be the worst ruler Equestria has ever seen, but her former status as the Bearer of Laughter cannot be denied even in the worst of my moods.

"It's an amaranth," she explained. "In Equestria we call it winterfat. Now, I know that sounds rather unappetizing," she went on, raising an amused eyebrow as my grin faded into a disgusted grimace. "But never fear, dear Luna. This is entirely a plant, and a flowering plant at that. Don't tell me you no longer love those."

Sister Dearest had a point. I must admit that, were I placed into a magnificently gigantic room stuffed from wall to wall with tall delectable plants caught in the fullest blossoms of their flowers, I would devour it all before those who had placed me would realize the severity of their mistake. I have decided to make it clear that these are my weakness, for every great figure in history requires one weakness or more, lest she or he appear to be "too perfect" to the masses in both the present and the future. Even Sister Dearest, paragon that she is, has long been known as the mare who cannot resist even a poisoned cup of well-brewed tea. (As a note to myself, giving her just such a deceptive delight would be quite a marvelous prank, which I shall play many times safely in my own imagination.)

In any case, I did nibble at the grossly misnamed winterfat. Misnamed as far as fat is concerned, at least, for the flowers carry a pleasant spice of wintery mint, which can be detected beneath the pleasantly light crunch of their overwhelmingly savory buds. It was not my favorite taste in the world, I must admit, and it took me several glasses of water and several more words of encouragement from Sister Dearest to warm up to the unusual flavor. Still, the delightful texture of amaranths cannot be denied, and before too much time had passed I had finished off what remained in the vase and glancing about for some more.

"Later, perhaps." She smiled. "Your stomach isn't quite as big as it should be, remember. In any case, I'm glad you enjoyed your meal. This will certainly help to ease you back into the realm of politics, at least as far as dinners with foreign dignitaries are concerned."

I nodded, pacified by the delectable food resting comfortably within my stomach. It was an odd thing ... standing there in the kitchens with Sister Dearest, frowning and laughing as I tasted a bizarre new item of cuisine, while the chefs half hid amongst the pots and pans with a look of practiced resignation. It was a feeling I have not felt since long before the Nightmare, before the jealousy and the rage and the spark that led me to my path of glorious conquest. To simply spend time with my naïve, yet beloved sister.

"Now go to bed and get some rest," she told me with an embarrassingly doting nuzzle. "Tomorrow I will have you meet your son."


	4. Entry Four

_June 24, 1000 ANM_

Only upon waking very early this morning did it occur to me that, due to the passage of so many years, I should no longer have a son. With this realization in mind I leapt out from my bed, darted down the long carpeted hallway that separates my chambers from those of Sister Dearest, and pounded on her door with all the force of a foal seeking entrance to a room full of candy.

She emerged with her bright and colorful mane perfect and pristine, as usual. My own bed-shuffled mane still feels woefully inadequate in comparison. Oh how I miss my lovely starry mane, with its showers of meteors and comets in miniature streaking through locks of pure blue! Alas, it will take time for me to regain my former glory, if ever.

"Well, of course you still have a son," Sister Dearest assured me once I expressed the lack of logic in this situation. "He still exists, after all, and I can hardly understand why you would disown him." A thoughtful crease marred her perfect brow. "Unless ... this is about that millennium again, isn't it. You're thinking he's passed away by now, haven't you? Don't worry, little sister, all is well. Please go back to bed and allow yourself to dream once more. I'll be glad to bring him to you first thing in the morning."

I bit back a retort about how it already _was_ morning, regardless of whether her hideous ball of fire was blasting apart the sky. There was no need to antagonize her, especially in these earliest stages of my clever schemes (which is to say, their developmental processes). In any case, even I could recognize that I was not in my greatest form despite the late hour, and so I grudgingly returned to my quarters. The situation was not urgent, and I supposed no harm would come in allowing time to run its course until our next meeting.

So certain was I of awakening before the rest of the palace that I was quite shocked when, several hours later, Sister Dearest's gently prodding hoof poked me out of the realm of dreams. I was forced to exchange the image of a looming red sun of doom with its looming white keeper of doom, smiling down at my sleepy form with her perfect face.

"Rise and shine, Luna. Somepony here wants to see you."

It was then that I noticed the equally white form standing a few paces behind her, shuffling awkwardly in place. At the sound of Sister Dearest's voice, the stallion turned his nose to me while simultaneously keeping it pointed towards the ceiling, but something flickered in his eyes at the sight of me as he smiled.

It was one of the few genuine smiles I have ever seen on his face, and I must say the effect is nothing short of magical. He is physically handsome in all but the worst of circumstances, as many hopeful mothers were once eager to tell me, but when he smiles — truly smiles, without a smirk or a sneer to twist the corners of his mouth — it is as if a light comes on within him, and one can see that an inkling of inner goodness can peek out from behind his twisted old crone of narcissism.

"Mother!" he cried, breaking out of his haughty front to leap at me with outstretched hooves.

I smiled and embraced him, irritation with Sister Dearest and my current condition forgotten. "Oh, Blueblood, heart of hearts! How good it is to see you again, my darling, darling son!"

I suppose I should pause to explain to my dear reader, who may be more familiar with this stallion as a mere colt with less than admirable behavior, the nature of my relationship with young Prince Blueblood. In truth, he shares none of my blood; our connection has more to do with understanding than relation. I shall recount briefly of his past, as I believe that Equestria is sadly lacking in keeping its ancient history well known to all but a few lonely scholars.

Centuries in the past, not long before I turned to the Nightmare for guidance, Sister Dearest and I sought to vanquish the Shadow of the North, a monster called King Sombra by those who had not been driven mad in fear of him. While I can certainly appreciate anypony with a special talent for darkness, I could not endorse the way in which he had twisted it into sowing corruption and destruction within all he touched, so I decided to eliminate this potential rival in the field of tyranny. We confronted him at the Plains of Glass, horns humming with arcane spells of binding as we faced him and his armies of enslaved and corrupted crystal ponies. Tens of thousands of our honorable ponies led the charge against his forces of nightmares, diverting their attention as we soared directly towards our predatory prey. We unleashed our spells against him, and naturally he countered them with a wall of horrible roiling blackness.

Where his magic clashed with mine stood one unlucky young pony, our last standard-bearer, who was immediately consumed by our combined dark forces. At the moment we gave the unicorn no thought, so focused were we on casting our backup spells and banishing him within the ice of the Crystal Empire. Only after it became apparent that the Empire too had vanished, and our soldiers stared into the spaces where their miserable foes had stood a second before, did the screaming catch our attention. So wracked was I with guilt that this unsuspecting pony had been caught in our crossfire, I tremblingly pulled him from the maddening storm of darkness and healed his wounds myself. Yet it seemed unlikely that his considerable stress would permit him any peace of mind, so I took him under my wing as my patient, then apprentice, then honorary son and co-conspirator in the plots of the New Lunar Republic.

Naturally, I assumed Blueblood had passed with the years despite the considerable dark powers he had been imbued with, so my shock and joy that he remained on Gaia's green earth prevented me from asking that nagging question for nearly half a minute.

"It was actually a very simple thing," Sister Dearest replied with a grin. "When I turned the Elements of Harmony on you — Nightmare Moon, that is — I was surprised when they blasted you into the moon rather than purify you. So hard were you blasted, in fact, that facets of your mind were dislodged and forced to latch onto the nearest living beings. No, don't worry! I have good reason to believe that the Elements healed your mind fully this time, for you interact with me as a loving sister should. In any case, poor Blueblood was overwhelmed by the Magic of Self-Awareness, and I was forced to begin the Rite of Ascension with him to ensure his survival and sanity."

"I didn't go through with it, of course." Blueblood emphasized his obvious statement with a glance at his wingless back. "Despite the honor it would grant me, being a princess is far from my desires, and likewise becoming an alicorn would mean losing a part of myself. I did end up immortal, fortunately."

This was an instance in which an explanation did not actually explain anything whatsoever, but I did not particularly care. My son still lives, and that is enough for me.

* * *

The three of us spent breakfast together, alone — Blueblood haughtily sent the servants away. I must say I am impressed that he can eat on his own now, even if he does leave his spoons hanging in midair to admire his reflection in their polished surfaces. Memories of our first years together still resurface, in which servants attempted to feed his nigh unresponsive form. My eyes misted over as I watched him daintily dip his silver utensils into his food, nose still inclined towards the ceiling.

"How have you been these last thousand years?" I asked him once we had concluded our meal. Sister Dearest was required at Court, as was her common duty, and the two of us who remained were content to pass the time with a stroll through the gardens. I must admit I was impressed with their considerable size, as our old castle at Everfree sadly limited itself to simple rows of tulips and daisies amidst the orchards. "I expect no trouble of note has come upon you."

"I have been quite well, Mother." He sniffed at the state of the gardeners as we passed them by. "Canterlot Palace is the best possible place for me, and so I have gotten along nicely."

"Good, very good." I nodded, waiting until we were out of earshot before speaking again. "Now, to important matters. How are our plans for the Lunar Republic?"

"Ah." He bit his lip in a gesture far from princely. "I have been meaning to speak with you on that. You see, I have compiled a great list of possible plans gleaned from various texts on political bylaws and whatnot, but it was a few years ago that I ran into an unexpected problem."

"And what would that problem be, my good son?"

"I would prefer not to speak of it, for it is quite frankly embarrassing and not befitting a prince's behavior in the slightest. I am, however, quite willing to create my list again."

"You will speak of the fate of your list, Blueblood, lest I confiscate your mirrors for the week."

"Mother, that is quite impossible. You should have guessed that I hold a monopoly on the mirror market."

"Be that as it may, I will use the Royal Canterlot Voice in your quarters if need be."

He blanched. "Did you not shout yourself hoarse two days ago? An incident with Poison Joke, I believe?"

"I did, but as you know my embarrassing incident, it is only fair that you tell me of yours." The hint of panic on his face softened my voice. "I promise that I shall not grow angry with you, Blueblood, if that is what you fear ... what you love."

Sickly confusion crept across his features at my slip, but he nevertheless sighed in resignation. "If you truly say so, Mother, then I will reveal the problem. I mistook it for a particularly dry sample of Canidian cuisine."

I froze. "Repeat yourself clearly, Blueblood."

"I ate it, Mother," he said more plainly. "Nothing salvageable remained of it in the end, at either end, despite my best efforts. To defend my action, I was highly stressed after a long session of croquet with the delegates from Canida, and my disappointment at my staggering loss was simply so high that my very judgment was impaired, and—"

I really must apologize to Blueblood when I next see him, for I fear that my scream of frustration may have shattered his eardrums as well as the nearby windows.

* * *

I am currently sulking in my quarters, as I have been for the last several hours. Not even the sight of Sister Dearest raising my moon from her balcony can raise my ire further. How can a single pony destroy the hopes and dreams of his mother so badly? Many instances of failures and disappointment seen in my subjects a millennium ago were not enough to prepare me for this.

Can I reconcile with him? I suppose I must, sooner or later. He is my son, and though his flesh and blood are his own, I cannot neglect him. In any case, I will need his help when I begin to set my still-budding plans into action. He may be a fool — neigh, he is an utter dunderhead — but he is _my_ dunderhead, and I have taken him under my wing. Besides, any company in my mission is better than none. I will speak with him in the morning, assuming he has not taken to cowering under his bed with his eyes squeezed shut and a plump pillow pressed to either ear. Mothers and their children do have disagreements, do they not? Children make mistakes, and mothers get enraged and provide the runts with a generous helping of possible ear damage.

In any case, I will need my rest tonight. Sister Dearest has just passed by my door, preferring calling through it to barging through it today. She has given me some information that I have yet to process fully, and I believe that every ounce of strength and willpower I can get will be necessary when my patience is so tested in the morning. Please, O holy Iris and Gaia of sky and earth, please grant me thy strength so that I may overcome Sister Dearest's cheeriest of trials.

"Be sure to get up early tomorrow, Luna!" were her words. "That's when our daughter finally returns home from the Crystal Expanses!"


	5. Entry Five

_June 25, 1000 ANM_

As it turns out, I need not have been so concerned about Sister Dearest's tantalizing statement. "Our" daughter was merely Mi Amore Cadenza, which I suppose I should have suspected.

"So she is what you meant by 'our' daughter," I said upon noting that perfectly pink princess. "Really, Celestia, there was no need for your cryptic nonsense to confuse me. I may be traditional, but even you know that I am not _that_ traditional."

"It's good to see you too, Auntie," the pink princess said wryly.

"My apologies. There seems to have been a misunderstanding regarding who is the focus of attention here." I inclined my head, already planning an escape route. "Greetings, Mi Amore Cadenza."

"Actually, I go by Cadence now. But Auntie Luna, it's just been so long since I've seen you! How are you able to even walk around after being trapped in the moon for a thousand years? I'd imagine that wouldn't be good for your muscles in the slightest."

"Hence why she remained resting in her room for her first day back." Sister Dearest draped a motherly wing over Mi Amore Cadenza's back. "But alicorns are certainly hardier than even earth ponies, so it shouldn't be surprising that she's already up and about. You're quite familiar with how that concept works, I'm sure."

Mi Amore Cadenza blushed. "Anyway, Auntie Luna, I'm know you're wondering why Tia's trying to tell you that I'm your daughter."

"What gave you that revelation?" I raised a skeptical eye to Sister Dearest, who remained serenely smiling. "At best I was hoping that she had confused her pronouns. 'We' may be infinitely preferable to 'I', but that does not make it the most suitable of choices in every situation. In any case, I am surprised that you are not deceased by now ... pleasantly surprised, of course. Though I expect that your predicament is similar to Blueblood's?"

"Well, as you probably remember," that pink princess stated in that practiced tone of a schoolfilly reciting her letters, "she's my mother by birth. But it wasn't until you ... it wasn't until Nightmare Moon was blasted to the moon by the Elements of Harmony that I gained my immortality. Just as Blueblood received your dislodged Magic of Self-Awareness, I was hit with the Magic of Love, which kind of makes you my mother too. I got this neat mark as well that day." She angled her flank my direction, revealing a cutie mark resembling the Crystal Heart. I really must discover the fate of that powerful artifact, as it may find great use in my search for benevolent tyranny. "It's too bad, I've got to say ... remember all of those days you helped me in searching for my special talent? Those sure were the days."

"Yes," I lied, annoyance stirring in my heart. Why should Sister Dearest's spoiled daughter be treated to a godhood superior to that of my darling son? It is certainly unfair. I must remedy that problem as soon as I have become empress.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Sister Dearest finally spoke up, "you should probably know, Luna, that Cadence is known to the public as my niece as well as yours. It forces less publicity on her, which she is quite grateful for."

I frowned. "Will the common pony not wonder as to her parentage? Surely there has been some speculation as to why this virtual unknown should be the Princess of Love over them."

"Let them have their fun," she said, smiling still. At her side, Mi Amore Cadenza looked properly embarrassed. "My little ponies are never quite satisfied unless they have gossip to chew on. In any case, I must be off ... Court is beginning soon, and I must have my mind clear and sharp for all of their dear little squabbles. Come with me, dear Cadence, there's somepony I'd like you to meet ..."

As they departed, Mi Amore Cadenza turned her head towards me and mouthed some ominous words. I am not excellent at lip-reading, I love, so her meaning could have been many things. Of my superior guesses, however, I would imagine that she was attempting to say "I'm onto you," if only because the alternative "Fly on your shoe" was quickly proven incorrect by a hastily subtle check towards my lovely blue hooves.

Since then, I have been trying to uncover the meaning of her message. Does she suspect that I still seek a tyrannical rule, one that would displace her and her mother from their cushy thrones? Surely not, I would like to believe, for her upbringing has exposed to absolutely no malice and, consequentially, no experience. She cannot possibly fathom my goals. Yet the niggling sensation of doubt lingers at the back of my mind, waiting and whispering. I suppose I should be cautious as I begin. No doubt she will have her mother's ear attending to her every word.

But enough worry from you, my noble self. Tomorrow I will begin to put into action my first marvelous scheme! For now, I simply must ponder on where I can retrieve seventeen parcels of candy canes at this hour.


	6. Entry Six

_June 26, 1000 ANM_

Success! I have smuggled a variety of materials into my quarters with the help of dear Blueblood and several unsuspecting maids for use on my first ingenious scheme. I am pleased, and frankly amazed, at the fact that Sister Dearest can be so lax in her security, and that the maids are not prone to forthright inquisitiveness. The materials in question are listed below, as such:

**•** Sixteen parcels of candy canes (just short of desired quantity, creative application required)

**•** Two cardboard boxes (one is for further study of this marvelous material)

**•** Twelve rolls of duct tape (eleven are for further study of this marvelous material)

**•** Twelve sheets of iron (with holes conveniently driven into appropriate areas)

**•** Fifty screws (with screwdriver)

**•** One priceless diamond (**must** deliver duplicate to throne room before absence is noted)

**•** Ten grams of concentrated magic (volatile, do not shake)

This list-making process is tedious. Why am I even engaging in this activity? There is no need for recording which materials are utilized, as a failure would be pointless to return to while a success would make any further construction of this device unnecessary. I feel that I am indulging in a complete waste of time merely discussing it.

The walls of my chambers have already been soundproofed, for reasons I do not wish to fathom, and I doubt that I need to expend the energy attempting to cast similar spells on my floor and ceiling. I have already begun construction on my apocalypse apparatus, which I will properly name upon its completion.

Its current appearance is of a simplistic miniature house, with walls and roof made entirely of iron. There is a hole in the middle of the roof, providing access to a metallic pocket inside which contains the sprinkling bits of crushed candy canes. On the morrow I will activate the apparatus after christening it, and its activation will secure me the entirety of Equestria! Such a sentence is a relief to write, even if similar sentiments have already been expressed a dozen times over.

I supped with Blueblood this evening once we had determined that the day's work was completed. He seemed wary for reasons I cannot determine, though I noted that his ears were heavily bandaged today.

"How did construction work out, Mother?" I remember him asking between cautious sips of tea.

"It went as well as one could hope, I suppose. I am simply pleased to have come so close to completion of the project in such a short time." I munched thoughtfully on my salad for a moment, thoughts brewing. "I must wonder, though, if such a perception of time ... if the duration could appear so short due to my expectations of its accomplishment, or if it is merely the aftereffects of imprisonment for a thousand years. I do not doubt that time dilation is in effect here, though to what extent I cannot say. Perhaps time, in this case, is the key. After a millennium of unending nightmares on those lunar plains, I am unsure as to how I have avoided slipping into a downward spiral of gibbering madness, but I suspect that mental time and physical time are not quite the same. This could be a useful fact, I believe. What do you think, Blueblood?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up from his food. "Apologies, Mother, I cannot hear anything at the moment. Were you philosophizing?"

I puffed out my noble chest, anxious to bring him into these ideas. **"I said, I wonder if such a perception of time could appear so short—"**

The fortunate thing is that Blueblood was not knocked into my great creation, but instead into a dusty wooden bookcase. The power of my Royal Canterlot Voice is not always easy to overestimate. It is less fortunate that he injured his posterior quite severely, to the point of embedding several unflattering splinters in his distinguished derriere. I love that he may remain in the infirmary for at least a day's length in trying to have them removed. In my defense, I did apologize to my poor son profusely, and Sister Dearest seemed more amused at the incident than anything, that witch.

In any case, I will apologize to him tomorrow, after Equestria is in my grasp. Sister Dearest will be forced to apologize to him for his embarrassment at her giggle (which I do not believe was inadvertent in the slightest), and to me for coddling my kingdom far worse than I would ever coddle Blueblood. I believe there is nothing that can cripple my chances of domination now! I am so excited that I can hardly sleep, yet I must. Tomorrow will be a trying day, one way or the other.


	7. Entry Seven

June 27, 1000 ANM

How is it the saying goes? "Don't shoe your mules before they run"? "Don't feed the pigs before they're hungry"? What connection there is between common farm animals and wise old aphorisms, I cannot hope to guess. Surely there are no philosophers hiding in the dank rafters of barns, witnessing the dull activities below with eager quill set to parchment. Valuable life lessons are not to be found in hardship, but rather in comfort. This fact should be obvious to all but the farmers, I believe.

In any case, the events of the day were as follows. I was putting the finishing touches on my marvelous machine, which I was quick to call the Candycute — the term was put together with "candy cane", its key component, and "execute", which provides the appropriate suffix. Not only is it a catchy name, but it is unlikely to have been chosen for anything previously ... no doubt because its straightforward and purposeful nomenclature would strike terror and awe into wary bystanders.

Just as I prepared to pour the liquid magic over the crushed candy canes, my bedroom door flew open to reveal none other than Mi Amore Cadenza, who was wearing a rather flat hat and a determined expression. "I knew it!" she crowed. "I knew you were up to something, Auntie Luna! Now put down the flask and ... um ..." Her determination melted into confusion. "What exactly is this something that you're up to, anyway?"

("Don't count your chickens before they're hatched." There is the statement!)

"You dare suspect me, foal?" I asked in an equally blustering manner. "The validation of your suspicion does not excuse its existence. Hear me now as I explain, in lavish detail, exactly what this glorious apparatus is meant to accomplish! I trust you will pause in your righteous crusade to hear my illustrious voice expound to you the meaning of the Candycute."

I suppose I should have actually mentioned the purpose of my device earlier in this diary, if only for the sake of clarification. Essentially, dousing the crushed candy with magic would infuse it with great power, activating the device's transformation into a large mobile metallic gingerbread house with the capacity to annihilate an entire planet. Obviously I would put its marvelous power to less destructive use in conquering Canterlot with the Magic of Sugar, which, as the scholarly texts I have perused since my return have agreed, has a wild and unpredictable potency at the best of times and may lead to catastrophe in the wrong hooves. Fortunately it was being harnessed by _my_ hooves, a fact in which I take the utmost pride.

I love that I may have extended this information to its fullest in my explanation to Mi Amore Cadenza, to the point of prattling on to her for the space of half an hour regarding the exact physics on which the Candycute was designed to run. Had I not paused for breath at that thirty-minute mark, I might have gone on for even longer, thereby missing the simple fact that she had brushed past me and was now in the process of carefully dismantling my marvelous machine.

**"Have at thee, wench!"** I snarled, in part to cover up my embarrassment. I brandished the flask of liquid magic impressively, or would have done so had it remained in my horn's grip. Indeed, a quick glance about the room revealed that my niece had already corked it and insulated it in the safety of one of my luxurious pillows, which she had tucked carefully underneath her wing.

"There!" she exclaimed, pulling out a fatal screw. The entire structure shuddered, then collapsed with a thunderous crash into a pile of metal and shame. "Now Equestria is safe from your greedy hooves. I knew you were up to something, Auntie Luna, I just knew it! Mom's going to get you good for this."

"'Tis impossible," I cried, wrenching the pillow triumphantly from her grasp. "You may not know this, Mi Amore Cadenza, but Sister Dearest is a 'just' and 'fair' ruler who will never punish others based on hearsay. To do so would be heresy."

"My name is **Cadence**!"

Her use of the Royal Canterlot Voice startled me. Could she, in fact, have worthiness for the throne deep down within her pampered heart? The question plagued me for a moment, after which I realized she had snatched the pillow back and was galloping out of the room. I sprinted after her, desperate to get that piece of evidence back. Memory half-shadowed played at the edges of my mind, a time of silent screams as eyes no longer mine stared across endless silver plains. I could not be banished again. My reputation should wither and die first!

Such was my reasoning. Later, when Sister Dearest and an entire platoon of servants found us engaged in our merry battle, I wondered if perhaps I had been too hasty.

"It's good to see you two having a friendly pillow fight," Sister Dearest chuckled, plucking the pillow out of Mi Amore Cadenza's mane. The flask of liquid magic fell from its plush form, and my own magic was hasty to catch it before it was noticed or else given the chance to destroy the entirety of the palace. Fortunately, everypony else failed to notice this. "But maybe a little less roughhousing to go around, hmm? I daresay you've given the maids a heart attack with all the feathers you've flung everywhere."

There was a twinkle in her eye I did not like, so I took my leave as soon as equinely possible with my hidden cargo in tow. I could feel Mi Amore Cadenza's eyes burning twin holes in my back. And why should they not? I had made her into a laughingstock with this discrepancy, which was nearly sufficient recompense for the destruction of the Candycute.

She will try to reveal my scheming again, I am sure of it. I shall simply have to learn to live under the same roof as a second nemesis. Not even spoiled Mi Amore Cadenza has the ear of Sister Dearest, it seems. There is hope yet; my safely preserved flask of liquid magic has assured it. I only now need to formulate a new plan ...


	8. Entry Eight

_June 28, 1000 ANM_

Today I indulged in a most amusing gambit. Sister Dearest left a half-finished letter on her desk, and I, who just happened to be in the area at the time, stumbled across it. It was addressed to her most faithful student, that Twilight Sparkle, and with it lay a septet of tickets for next year's Grand Galloping Gala.

Let me pause to elaborate on this event. The Grand Galloping Gala is a most ancient tradition, dating back to the Time of Three Tribes as a ritual demonstrating the unity and cooperation between the pony races. Over time the common pony found less and less interest in attending the event, and only the most powerful and ambitious of ponies still found reason to partake in the festivities. As such it has become a symbolic venture of the elite, representing the steadfastness of the noble pony in adherence to past traditions.

Oh, how I adore the constant political games! The floundering of one aspiring merchant in futile attempts to slip into a potential sponsor's good graces; the light laughter masking a horrendous downfall of one unfortunate's reputation; the occasional ambassador with an amusing accent and acceptable ambivalence ... all of these are grand occurrences indeed. The excitement and droll wit takes a keen eye to discern, for the less intelligent pony might mistake such behavior for a dull montage of nothingness.

At least, so it was a millennium ago. It would not surprise me in the slightest if Sister Dearest has changed the manner of the Grand Galloping Gala since that time, exchanging its light banter for heavy modernism. Transforming the ballroom into a foul circus is the sort of atrocity she would gladly commit, and I do mean a circus. A past incident involving mimes, lions, and crème-filled toiletries springs to mind.

At any rate, allowing the Bearers of Harmony access to the Grand Galloping Gala indicates a level of trust hitherto unseen so quickly in a group of common ponies. How there are seven tickets when there are six Bearers is a puzzle, but I suppose that one of them might have a fiancé interested in attending. I really must investigate further into the personal lives of the mares who freed me from the Nightmare, as the sheer magnitude of their just-formed friendship was enough to topple me at my most powerful.

It was at that point that I received an idea. If the number of tickets were cut down significantly, arguments as to who should receive the tickets would inevitably spring forth. With discord spread through their ranks, I would have one less possible threat to my takeover of Canterlot! The situation was so simple that I could only laugh. Merrily I executed this plan, finishing up Sister Dearest's letter in a sufficient manner and sending it off to Twilight Sparkle's servant dragon with a puff of magic.

With that plan taken care of, I confiscated the remaining five tickets within my room, in a marvelous contraption known to the world as a safe. What purpose they would eventually serve I did not know, but as the Grand Galloping Gala shall not take place for many months I would certainly have enough time to ascertain an answer to that issue.

I then proceeded to while away the day in the library, which is considerably larger than that of Everfree Castle could ever dream to be. I was quite confused at first regarding the library's system of organization, uncertain as to where one might find a text on how the world had differed over a thousand years' time. Fortunately a librarian was present to assuage my doubts, informing me of another invention known as the Dewey Decimal System that had been created specifically to create a unity of library organization, permitting complete strangers to a building the opportunity to discover the same information in the same way every time. I noted wryly to myself that such a system would have certainly have been of benefit to me in my early tyrannical quest, only to promptly grow embarrassed as the librarian cautiously asked me why I was speaking to myself.

Sadly, despite the sheer size of the building, there was no literature regarding the history in dictatorship within Equestrian boundaries. What Sister Dearest calls Discord's reign then, I cannot guess at. Magical theory was my next best opportunity, so I proceeded to indulge myself in a lengthy study session at an oddly comfortable table. It seems that spells are primarily designed through matrices nowadays instead of the simple bursts of power I am used to. What is the reasoning for this? Surely this was a marvelous breakthrough in magical studies, but why it was necessary in the first place puzzles me. Simple visualization of the intended result of a spell is crucial, if not foolproof.

I had studied into the late hours of the evening, pausing only to watch my lovely moon rise through a stained-glass window, when Sister Dearest trotted into the library with a sternly amused expression. I sighed and closed my current book.

"What brings you here, Celestia?"

She said nothing, instead raising seven gleaming tickets for the Grand Galloping Gala.

"What? But I locked that safe ... I mean to say, what are you showing me, dear sister?"

"Twilight Sparkle informed me of the situation, at least as far as she was aware. Really, Luna, if you wanted to go to the Gala you only need to ask! I _am_ eternally its hostess, after all."

I slumped in defeat, though pleased that I had weaseled out of revealing my true intentions. "My apologies, Celestia. I meant no harm in it."

"I know. Next time, please talk to me first."

My concern over this incident is palpable. Even upon learning that Twilight Sparkle only received a pair of tickets, how could Sister Dearest possibly discern what had happened to the other five? I am quite troubled. Clearly she is aware of more than I imagined. I love that my schemes may be discovered in some minor way. Not that this is grounds for abandoning my aim of tyranny, of course! I must simply exercise a tad more caution.


	9. Entry Nine

_June 29, 1000 ANM_

Today I was inspired to create a plethora of miniature device which I have dubbed Rubbercutes. Formed entirely out of an odd bouncing substance called rubber, these yellow waterfowl-shaped objects are small enough to rest comfortably in one's hoof in most cases, yet have potentially unlimited practical applications. They are light enough to float on water, create a shrill shrieking noise when squeezed, and are odd-looking enough that nopony can suspect their more sinister purpose of magically spying on their owners for me.

Upon putting the finishing touches on my little toys, it occurred to me that I should provide it with a trademark, a wondrous invention that has revolutionized the concept of identity in non-sentient objects. To trademark the word of Rubbercute would truly make it my own, preventing its majesty from being stolen by those who would seek to defile its status. With this in mind I stepped out for just a few minutes, seeking texts on the minutiae of how to seek trademarking and why one should seek it.

I returned with an impressive stack of books, which I promptly dropped upon noticing that none other than Mi Amore Cadenza had broken into my chamber again. She was staring at the Rubbercutes with a startled expression, which I imagine was similar to my own upon discovering the identity of her father.

"Did you just reinvent the rubber duck?" she finally asked, poking at one of them with a perfect pink hoof.

"And what, pray tell, do you mean by a 'rubber duck'?"

One of them squeaked at her touch, and she grimaced. "I mean these. Well, I guess rubber ducks don't have a sinister blue aura coming from their eyes, but otherwise they're exactly the same."

I blinked at her, crestfallen. "You mean that somepony has already created objects of this nature?"

"Basically."

My ears drooped. It was fortunate that I had been reading on the nature of trademarking, or else I might have inadvertently stolen this concept from someone else without even realizing it! Such thievery is a low to which not even I shall stoop.

Mi Amore Cadenza patted my shoulder. "But if it helps, I would have stopped your evil plan in its tracks even if the rubber duck didn't already exist."

I smiled sardonically. "Thank you ... I suppose."

She beamed and took her leave. I was left alone with a hundred Rubbercutes scattered across the floor. With a wink of my horn they vanished, turning up who knew where. They were useless now, I knew. Let somepony else try to benefit from them.

I spoke with Blueblood on this later, and he seemed astonished. "But Mother, I don't think anypony would actually care that you plagiarized the rubber duck! It's not as if everypony is well aware of who designed them. Nopony would know."

"'Tis not true," I corrected him. "_I_ would know. You may not realize this, looking at tonight's sky the way you have for the last millennium, but I am something of an artist. And as an artist, I understand the necessity of a work belonging to its creator alone. The creator may share her work, certainly, yet the question of ownership does not change. I would vastly prefer conquering Canterlot with my own ideas, even if only to ensure that the ponies understand that I, not Sister Dearest, am the one in control."

"Fair enough." He looked disgruntled. "It's just that I thought we were going to work rather unscrupulously to achieve this goal."

"And we shall. Yet I shall not descend to the level of the petty thief for the sake of eternal glory and tyranny. We are quite superior to that sort of behavior, as you should be well aware. But enough of my loathsome bouts of righteousness and self-pity. May I ask what happened to the bandages on your ears?"

"Well, my ears got better, so off the bandages went," he said, in a manner expressing that such a fact should have been obvious. "And the same goes for my rump, if you were about to ask."

"I was not, but you bring up a fair point. How dare your aunt make a mockery of your shame? This is not something with which I shall tolerate for much longer. That I have completely forgotten about it over the past two days is irrelevant, of course."

"Thank you, Mother. It would also please me if certain ponies refrained from screaming in my presence to prevent such things from happening again."

I grimaced. "I did misuse my Royal Canterlot Voice in such a way, did I not? My apologies, Blueblood. I have been under considerable stress lately, and additionally have been freed from a parasitic monster, so I fear that ... I love that I have had some difficulties."

"And I will help you," he said after only a moment's uncertainty, nuzzling me. "Your aims are mine. But please take more caution. Be patient, and the answers will probably come. In any case, you should really get some rest; you look less than perfect today."

I swatted at his nose. "Say not such a thing, silly boy."

At times I wonder if I have raised my son to be too honest. Of course, what other way could I have done so? Once I was the Bearer of Honesty, one of three of my finest traits. But what of the deception, the reader asks? The sneaking and scheming right under Sister Dearest's nose? It is not exactly honest in itself. To which I reply, what of it? What honesty is greater than being true to oneself, one's hopes and dreams and ambitions? There is good, and then there is the greater good. I simply choose to adhere to the latter, not breaking the law but rather circumventing it. It is the spirit, not the letter, which I support, and that is what it truly means to be honest.

Am I really philosophizing again? I must learn to keep my babbling to myself, not spew it across the page like a foalish youngster. This is a tome of triumph, and I must keep it that way if I wish to stay on course.


	10. Entry Ten

_June 30, 1000 ANM_

Last night I dreamed of the madness that gripped me not two weeks ago: the loathsome solitude save for that monster, involuntarily dashing across dusty silver stone. Cold laughter rang in my throat and ears as I galloped beneath an eternally jet-black sky with its obscenely glittering galaxies. Feathers fell from my starved wings, collapsing into puddles of liquid corruption as they floated downward on pale gravity. Simultaneously I was a massive being, a mere bodiless head paralyzed foully in the rock of my own creation while whispers in a guttural tongue clawed at my mind. All the while there was screaming, though whose I was uncertain. I drowned in love, undying forever.

I decided to deal with this nightmare in the mature way that I always have, namely shrieking and curling up beneath light blankets, shivering like a foal. I am embarrassed to disclose this information, but as I am an honest princess I cannot hide my moments of weakness from my gentle readers. Perhaps it is also for the purpose of gazing on these pages in the future and laughing at my own folly, though at the moment I have no such inclination.

Sister Dearest was kind enough to drop by my chambers, carrying with her a tray of hot chocolate and a bizarre confection called marshmallows. I have decided that this is my favorite beverage, even if it does bring to mind my small form curled up beneath my sister's great wings. The comfort it provides outweighs its connotations.

Upon finally revealing the nature of my distress, I found a trace of a sad smile upon her face. "Before you returned, I used to have similar dreams. Being chained to the planet while demons spirited you away ... well, that's something I never quite grew accustomed to." Her embrace tightened as she nuzzled me. "My little sister. I am not infallible, but I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you and your happiness."

"I know." I took a sip, taking pleasure as a half-melted marshmallow slipped between my lips. "And for that I am grateful. But the Nightmare's possession was entirely my fault, you know. There is no need to blame yourself. It is my burden to bear, and mine alone."

"Now, you can't say that. The Nightmare was quite active in taking control. But Luna ... did the Magic of Friendship teach you nothing? The greatest deeds cannot be accomplished on our own. We need the help of others to be the best we can be."

"Spare me your forgiveness, Celestia. There are others more deserving than I."

"You've been rather anxious for acceptance, silly sister," she told me with a nudge. "Make a decision already! But in all seriousness, I've wondered many times if there was something I could have done ... anything to prevent the madness you found yourself sliding into."

"Do not say such sad things. I cannot blame you for my own failings."

"Nevertheless, I have meant to care for you above all others. What sort of caretaker am I, the wise and fair Princess Celestia, who couldn't even stop her own beloved sister from falling into the black magic of the cosmos?"

I barked out an accidental laugh. "I suppose the fault lies with both of us. It is mostly in myself, though."

"I suppose you're right. But I'll help keep you from making the same mistake twice." She smiled and lifted the pot with her golden magic. "Well, it does us no good to lament about things we can't change. More hot chocolate?"

If there is one thing to say about Sister Dearest, she is certainly the kindest rival I could hope to have. That fact should not be as surprising as it is, but there is the truth. I do not know what I have done to deserve her admittedly welcome presence, but I suppose that whatever it was, it atones me a hundred times from the Nightmare's lies.

In more practical news, I have decided that this nightmare should not repeat itself. As soon as it is equinely possible, I shall strive to return to the realm of dreams and retake my title as the Queen of Dreaming. If I cannot have my night one way, I will have it in the other.


	11. Entry Eleven

_July 1, 1000 ANM_

Today I experienced a most atrocious encounter. Upon expressing an interest as to what the Night Guard had been accomplishing over the course of my absence, Sister Dearest led me to a room of recreation, where I discovered a plethora of dark-colored ponies lounging upon the couches in what I assume was supposed to be an endearingly casual manner.

"It's her majesty," one of them noted dully, nursing a bottle of apple cider like a newborn's mother.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Then, in a flurry of motion, the dark ponies snapped to attention, clambering onto their hooves with the urgency I would expect from Blueblood discovering a spider in his bed. Only one failed to do me such courtesy, but as he was preoccupied with keeping a small tiger under control, I could not find the heart to blame him.

"Princess Luna!" exclaimed the largest batpony with a curt salute. "Welcome back. It's my great privilege as Captain of the Night Guard to reintroduce you to your proud guard. There's more to the speech that I can't remember off the top of my head, but rest assured we have all been anticipating your return since our induction."

"I can see that." My eyes flitted over to the pool table, which had been unfortunate enough to be transformed into a pincushion for three dozen swords. "You have certainly done ... something ... with your rank. What is your name, Captain?"

"Midnight Ravenwing," he said arrogantly, as if he should be proud to boast such an unwieldy name. "And I speak for all of us when I say that all of us have admired you since our acceptance into your wonderful guard."

"Really." I raised an eyebrow. "You admired me even though I played foalish host to a Nightmare that wanted nothing more than to destroy everything you stood for?"

Another awkward silence reigned. Somepony coughed.

"Well." Midnight Ravenwing coughed uncertainly. "You know what I mean. We appreciate the subtle beauty of the night, and have dutifully incorporated it into our patrols. Your appearance here is an incredible reminder of the way we slink from shadow to shadow, watching over hapless citizens with the dark grace of ... shadows, I guess."

Let me pause to make something perfectly clear. In the years before the Nightmare, there was a kind of friendly competition between the Royal and Night Guards. It was a competition of presence, of pomp and circumstance, of which general could holler at the most admirable volume without damaging his throat beyond repair. It was a glorious time of undoubted might, and our guards were an admirable reflection of that proud tradition. To be anything less was an insult to everypony in the vicinity, and reprimands would be in immediate order.

"You mean to tell me," I said as evenly as I could manage, "that my Night Guard has become a troupe of shadows?"

"Yes!" He breathed a sigh of relief. "Perfect words from our perfect princess. Thanks, your majesty."

**"But mere shadows are insubstantial, Captain!"** I did not care that my Royal Canterlot Voice was dislodging things from their rightful places, so incensed was I. **"Art without meaning is meaningless! Did it never occur to any of you that skulking about in the dark only provides a prime example for criminals to follow? I thought you took pride in your positions! Starting tomorrow, you will be as bold as the Royal Guard in your patrols. Pace about the city stoically and proudly; refrain from sneaking like shameful pests! Do I make myself clear?"**

Their feeble cries of "Sir, yes sir!" were mostly lost in the dying echoes of my voice, but I was convinced that the point had been made sufficiently. Why else would they be prostrating themselves in fear love?

"Very good," I huffed, smoothing my mane back into place. "Take care not to do otherwise, lest I be forced to use Protocol Five against you."

The ponies glanced at each other. "I've never heard of Protocol Five," one of them said nervously.

"And you don't want to." I put on a completely innocent smile. "Now, Captain Midnight Ravenwing, will you introduce your associates to me?"

My memory of their names is, of course, crystal clear, yet for my own sake I could not tell which was which if I tried my hardest. It seems that there is a law or something along those lines requiring that only dark gray unicorns and batponies register for the Night Guard. Whatever the situation is, all of these ponies looked exactly the same as their brethren. I cannot tell when such practices began to be, but I must take the situation up with Sister Dearest when I next encounter her.

The only two besides the good captain who I distinctly remember are called Sergeant Daffodil and Private Panthera Awesome. The former held claim to a distinctive flowery cutie mark which he seemed rather embarrassed about; the latter was in charge of the miniature tiger, which he was still in the process of taming. I must also ask Sister Dearest when we have decided to allow tigers of any size into the palace. I have a nasty allergy to lions, and I believe that tigers may elicit the same reaction. I said so to the tamer, and he simply nodded without taking his eyes off of the growling beast.

I know this does not promote confidence in my Night Guard, but I do not think that I can entrust them with the planning of my lunar tyranny. They do mean well, in their odd bumbling way, yet I cannot risk Sister Dearest discovering my intentions. Therefore it must be kept secret between myself and Blueblood. And Cadence, I suppose, that spoiled child. I really must determine how I can prevent her from disrupting my takeover of Canterlot.


	12. Entry Twelve

_July 2, 1000 ANM_

Reports received from the Night Guard this morning revealed that crime overnight has been reduced from 0.5 percent to 0.3 percent. I must confess that I have no idea what these numbers are supposed to mean exactly, but I suppose that it marks a beneficial change. I praised Midnight Ravenwing for his swift changes to the guard protocol, and he had the audacity to act smug upon accepting my recognition. What does this foal think he is trying to accomplish? Is he trying to prove himself "the best Night Guard captain ever?" I do hope he is refraining from attempting to incur favoritism from me; such an attitude would be far from professional on both his part and mine.

More importantly, I discovered firsthoof the reasoning for using matrices in spellcasting. While use of this technique is neither as swift nor as visually impressive as simple visualization, I realized that diverting my focus for even an instinct could cause certain disaster without a stable structure of a spell matrix to stabilize the entire event. Thus my attempt to summon a bottle of soap for my morning cleansing ended instead in the appearance of a Rubbercute. Fortunately the small rubber waterfowl proved an adequate companion in my bathing, so much so that the matter of actually washing my noble body was forgotten entirely.

"Why, Luna!" Sister Dearest exclaimed later as I arrived for our afternoon meal. "This is certainly a surprise. I've already grown used to the strong scent of strawberries preceding your appearance."

"I found myself easily distracted, sister." And indeed, at that moment the platters of baked alfalfa seemed to swell within my vision. I somehow managed not to have my mouth water atrociously as I spoke. "The strawberry is an illustrious fruit, and we are both esteemed to be in each other's presence. Rest assured, tomorrow I will resume wearing a heavenly air of thick wet strawberries."

She giggled lightly for reasons I cannot fathom. Why can she not understand the importance of strawberry fragrance? It is sweet and alluringly delicious, juicy in all the right ways, and causes bystanders to be stricken with an overwhelming desire to devour such fruits with abandon. Strawberries, like that glorious beverage of hot chocolate, shall be heavily associated with my name upon my rise to power, so that all ponies may fully realize the loveliness that accompanies my presence at all times. I do not, of course, need assistance in looking my best, but often perceptions of others can mislead them to unfortunate conclusions, so I must convince them thoroughly with the use of fruit-scented products.

Perhaps I can utilize strawberry soap in another of my inventions? Its astounding properties would serve as an excellent catalyst to a mechanism meant to draw attention elsewhere, or else as a key component in a hypnosis device. Such would certainly make up for the Rubbercute fiasco.

After lunch I stumbled upon Mi Amore Cadenza, who was in the process of participating in an unfamiliar sport. She gave me a look that would have vaporized lesser beings. "Taking the day off again?" she asked, sending a bright green ball hurtling over the net with a slender racket. "At least this gives me a chance to work on my serve."

"What manner of occupation is this?" I asked carefully, watching as the pony on the other side of the court hit the ball back towards that pink princess. I very much doubted that I could put myself in her good graces after having seen me attempt to take over Canterlot with my wondrous schemes; yet I felt that I had to at least try to do so. At any rate, perhaps an innocuous question such as this would distract me from her wrath.

"Tennis," she replied, whacking the ball again. "It's a pretty new sport, only about four hundred years old or so, but it's already a popular one. I'm not that great at it, but it's good exercise."

"Exercise is good," I agreed. "Might I join you? It will be interesting to partake in these modern pastimes." And perhaps we could form an understanding, I didn't add.

Suspicion glinted in her eyes, but she nodded cautiously. Her magic caught the ball half a second before it could slam into her face. "I guess so. It'll probably keep you out of trouble, and I was at love-thirty anyway." She waved the other pony away and levitated another racket out for me. "Stand over there where she was, and remember to put the ball _over_ the net, not under it. You usually let the ball bounce once on your side before sending it back, but sometimes you can try to hit it right when it comes over if you're close enough to the net ..."

I tuned out her trivial fact-listing and trotted over to the designated area, where I proceeded to test the racket's weight. It seemed to be well-balanced, but what would I know? I am no savant in the art of tennis. And, as it turned out, this fact would come back to haunt me.

I love that I failed to hit the ball every single time. Not once could I lift my racket just in time, not that it mattered; my swings were too atrocious to be taken seriously, being either too tentative or too overzealous. Mi Amore Cadenza seemed to take vindictive satisfaction in my awful suffering.

"Just keep your eye on the ball, Auntie Luna," she called. I could not hear any jeering in her tone, but I knew it had to be there somewhere. "You'll get the hang of it. It takes a little practice."

I did not "get the hang of it." After my two hundred eightieth attempt I tossed the racket over to her, and she caught it in surprise. "Thank you for your patience, Mi Amore Cadenza," I said, downtrodden. "But it appears I simply have no talent in this recreation. I will take my leave, if you please."

"Well ... okay then. But if it helps, I was even worse than you are when I first started playing."

I must make obliteration of the sport of tennis primary in my list of things to do once I am empress. To have such a monstrosity mocking my competence is heresy, and I will not tolerate it. With any luck it will fall out of popularity by the time I have done so, preventing the common pony from making a fracas about the issue. One can only hope.


	13. Entry Thirteen

_July 3, 1000 ANM_

I requested Blueblood to assist me in my analysis of duct tape today, and of course he had no choice but to agree. To sum the activities up, we found that this marvelous material adheres strongly to nearly every substance, but especially to itself. As a result it got highly tangled up in my mane and around my horn for reasons I cannot remember, and poor Blueblood found great wads of it in his tail. Highly embarrassed, we were forced to ask Sister Dearest for assistance.

"Oh, Luna," she chided me gently. "I do tell you not to put your head towards everything you come across. I wish I could help you, but duct tape acts as a magic sink. You can only manipulate it manually."

"I know that," I growled, pawing at my sad sorry horn. "It would have been nice to be informed on the matter before painfully discovering it for myself."

"You do know there are several books in the library regarding duct tape, don't you?"

I paused. " ... Yes, of course."

"What do you mean, 'yes, of course'?" Blueblood demanded once she was out of earshot. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if you'd thought to glance over the library titles for something other than magical theory."

"Better to let her think we got ourselves into this fiasco intentionally. 'Tis preferable to the alternative, which would be even more disgraceful and imply that we cannot be trusted to remain unwatched for more than five minutes."

"But we can't."

"Exactly."

While he tried to puzzle this problem out, I carefully picked at the edge of the duct tape on my horn, gradually beginning to peel it away slowly. Every second was agony. Only careful composure kept me from rolling about on the ground like a wailing madmare. My hoof shook, but I stood firm. Regardless of whether I would ever use my magic again, I would absolutely refuse to appear to the public in this undignified fashion. How dare this foul duct tape besmirch my body in such an unbecoming matter.

The second the final inch was peeled off, I stomped on it in righteous vindication. Sadly, it stuck to my hoof, and a further bout of stomping failed to rectify the problem. Reflexively I began to visualize the abominable material flying off of my person, but a brief surge of pain in my horn sizzled the magic away before it could begin. I sighed and scraped at the duct tape, wondering which pony had decided to make it so unbelievably sticky.

Fortunately, poor Blueblood was in a worse predicament. Every attempt at pulling it away from his tail resulted in an undignified yelp as long blond hairs, stuck to the duct tape like a slug sticks to salt, were forcibly yanked from his rump. He mumbled words under his breath that I could not hear, but their meaning I could guess at, common though it was.

I could sympathize with him, but not assist, for there was still the matter of my mane to attend to. Suffice it to say that the process was just as painful as it was with my horn, not to mention significantly longer. Hours later, when we had finally untangled ourselves from that duct tape, my poor mane was seen to be considerably thinner and less royal. I love that it may not grow back to its lush potential for at least a month. At least I have maintained a modicum of regality; Blueblood will require constant vigilance to ensure he remains modest.

I have decided that duct tape will be a suitable punishment for all those who oppose me when I am empress. By "all those", of course, I mean those who deserve it the most. There is no need to incorporate overkill in my discipline, and I am certain that less strenuous tasks such as escaping a pit of alligators would suffice for the normal breed of criminal.


	14. Entry Fourteen

_July 4, 1000 ANM_

Today there happened to be a most pleasant surprise. Sister Dearest requested that I accompany her to the garage — not the small menial place where busy servants tidy up the chariots, but the grand chamber where said chariots are normally stored. In this not much has changed since my banishment; as then, there are mainly the bulky yet sleek golden monstrosities that she is so fond of, with a few less garish vehicles for unofficial use. It would not do for the royal princess of Equestria to be seen seated in common wood and metal.

I noted a horrifically pink chariot near the main entrance, which she was pleased to point out and detail its every moment of history. It belongs to Mi Amore Cadenza, she told me, as if I could not guess as much from the fat shimmering blue heart adorning its front. She had been granted access to her own chariot since she was a filly, though she was still in the process of learning how to drive it for herself. Despite this, she much preferred to ride on her simple bicycle, which was propped up unceremoniously against that great pink abomination.

Why she would do such a thing when soldiers could easily to the travelling work for her is beyond me, for is that not their job? To serve their princesses in whatever way they (the princesses) see fit? If only those foals would listen to me. The Royal Guards seem to have a vendetta against me, ever since I critically injured some of their number while entrapped in my madness. It was an accident at its core, as they well know. I must find a way to sway them to my cause. Subtly, of course. It would not do to blab my dearest secrets to those whose first and only priority is to preserve Sister Dearest's physical and political safety.

Anyways, Sister Dearest led me around a particularly jewel-crusted creation, where I abruptly found myself facing my own sleek dark chariot, my wonderful Moonbeam. She is a thing of spikes and darkness, black as night. The glorious insignia of my cutie mark glimmers on either side, each directly above a jagged wing-like protrusion. The mark of a pupil-slitted eye adorns her front, a stark reminder of the watchfulness ever present in her royal rider. She has been a loyal companion to me throughout the centuries, bold and proud as the night. A pony might go so far as to say that Moonbeam is my greatest friend, aside from Sister Dearest, of course.

"I've done my best to keep it in prime condition," Sister Dearest managed to say once my squeals had died down to an appropriate level. "I hope that you can take it from here; all of those preservation spells I cast on it were quite taxing. I knew how much it meant to you, so I've taken the liberty of keeping it well until your return."

"Moonbeam!" I exclaimed, enveloping her lidless eye in a warm embrace. "How I neglected you in my time of troubled possession! How you rusted within the sad confines of Everfree, alone and forgotten! But no more. From this day forth, you shall be at the forefront of my concerns!"

This was, of course, a gentle lie, for Moonbeam is a tricky sort and requires much love and affection to function properly, and my goals of overthrowing the diarchy are rather more pressing. Inwardly I promised to ride out upon her once my conquest is complete, as she cuts an intimidating figure and strikes love and awe into even the most casual of bystanders. She will have a garage of her own, and a maintenance crew as well. No common member of the horse-carts is she. The names of Luna and Moonbeam will reverberate throughout history.

"It looks like my job here is done." Sister Dearest stifled a giggle. "I'll be holding court soon, Luna, so I must go. Spend as much time out here as you like."

And so I did. I lounged within the marvelously soft interior, gazing at the ceiling with an unbecoming grin on my face. I love that I may have frightened away an approaching pair of chariot cleaners with my unnatural expression, but that is of little concern to me. Moonbeam is old, older than any of those golden nonsense chariots, and her sturdiness is a testament to her faithfulness.

She has borne me across the majestic city Everfree gleaming like a jewel in the sun, the vast shimmering Crystal Expanses shining blue and silver, the mighty mossy mountains of the alpaca tribes, and the cool purple twilight above the Endless Plain. There was more than that, of course, but the ones I mentioned were the most poetic. And with any luck, we may find more poetry together soon enough.

"I shall ride on you," I told her, stroking her chain-like reins. "No matter how trivial the pursuit, or how small the distance, all will bow before the might of Moonbeam."

I wonder sometimes if talking to my chariot is a healthy endeavor. Such wondering is, of course, utter foolishness, for Moonbeam is a sensitive vehicle and requires the utmost respect. Now that I ponder on it, there is little wonder that Sister Dearest's chariots keep breaking down. Nopony treats them as I would. Chariot equality will be a considerable issue to take on when I am empress, but I am certain that all will treat the topic with the appropriate seriousness.


	15. Entry Fifteen

_July 5, 1000 ANM_

I have interesting news. I chanced upon the forbidden section of the library today, a place where texts go to die from sad disuse. I have never understood Sister Dearest's insistence that knowledge can be harmful. Where, exactly, is the problem with providing foals with a list of flammable substances? Such a list would be highly educational for the young ponies, as it would teach them chemistry, alchemy, and an appreciation for valuable life lessons all at once. In any case, it certainly keeps youngsters occupied, which is a prime way to prevent young orphans from claiming a destiny of defeating a most noble empress.

The forbidden section is, of course, forbidden, so I found token resistance upon trying to cross over that threshold. The librarian was adamant that I refrain from entering. "If you do," said she, "you will break well over a thousand years of tradition, for only Princess Celestia and her most faithful student has permission to pass into the forbidden section."

I blanched at the thought of shaming tradition. Regardless, I stood firm. My task is a noble and great one which cannot be deterred by mere courtesy. "If my sister has permission," I told her, "surely I have permission by extension. I, who have recently been freed from the grip of a most vile demon, am trusted to cooperate with her in ruling Equestria once I have again reached my full strength. Why should that trust not extend to lesser spheres?"

"It's not a matter of trust, Your Highness," she explained. "It's a matter of precaution. Like you said, you're not at your full strength yet, and who knows what might happen if this knowledge falls into incapable hooves? Not to say you're incapable, of course, begging your pardon," she added hastily. "But an alicorn of your stature —"

"Is nevertheless perfectly able to take care of herself." I know that haughtiness is bad for one's complexion, but I simply could not help but feel a need to express my righteous indignation. "It is true that I am small for an alicorn, but I am nevertheless no less diminutive than the ordinary pony. And is not Twilight Sparkle an ordinary pony?"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "But I'm afraid rules are rules."

"Indeed?" I puffed out my chest in an intimidating fashion. "And if Blueblood or Mi Amore Cadenza should request access to these tomes, would you drive them away so uncouthly?"

"Well, I suppose they would have the right to the information," she said uncomfortably. "But they wouldn't just barge on in here and —"

"Am I not your princess, peasant? Where is the verisimilitude you find in comparing me to a barge, pray tell?"

"That's n-not what I meant," she stammered, turning pale. Her love was palpable. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. I didn't mean to offend you. Of course you have full access to these archives! Of course you do! But personally, I would feel better about it if you asked to be granted here officially from Princess Celestia first."

"I am not a filly, librarian!" I exclaimed, though I was full aware how like a tantrum my crusade was becoming. "It is not my way to beg permission from my sister like an impoverished child. Nonetheless, I shall suffer myself to bend to your will, just this once. If it puts your mind at ease, little pony, I will do as you suggest, provided that you keep out of my way from this day on when I have received her approval. Does this satisfy you?"

She nodded timidly, and I took my leave in a proud manner.

"Well, of course you can use the forbidden section," Sister Dearest said reasonably once I had explained the situation to her. "There's no reason to keep you from it, and you know that I trust you completely. But I thought you had found an interest in spell matrices a few days ago. What sparked this new interest?"

"What sparks any interest?" I replied casually. "It is always interesting to see what new developments have taken place, and considering my taste for the more macabre things the world has to offer ... well, it creates a demanding curiosity that must be satisfied. Worry not, Celestia. It is not as if I were planning to sneakily sweep Equestria from under your hooves again."

"Oh, I know," she said. "I have full confidence that those times have long passed."

She gave me a smile I did not much like before strutting off to court.

I returned to the library with some swagger in my step, and the wary librarian did not bother to verify whether or not I had truly received permission. Placated, I pushed aside the heavily chained door reading **Taxes: Do Not Enter** and emerged into a large chamber of many books. Rows of shelves were lined alongside one another innocuously, just as their brethren were in the library proper. Their titles, of course, gave their treacherous contents away.

Such wonders I have stumbled upon! I cannot hope to absorb all of these marvelous contents, but I can certainly try.

I retrieved for my room a large tome titled _Banned Substances and You (995 Edition)_ and am currently perusing what words lie within. There is a great deal of highly informative items of note, including an interesting aside on how to manufacture something called nitroglycerin. I shall have to study these manners further, and I really must apologize to Blueblood for missing dinner. The poor dear said he had a fact he wished to disclose to me during the meal, and my absence has surely revealed to him the importance of my discovery.


	16. Entry Sixteen

_July 6, 1000 ANM_

My upcoming invention will be dubbed Nitroglycercute. Essentially it will be liquid nitroglycerin repurposed as paint, which I shall smear on whatever I wish to destroy or hold ransom. Yet there are inherent difficulties regarding the creation of this highly applicable substance. As of yet nitroglycerin is, of course, banned in Equestria aside from trivial amounts permitted for use in medical practices, so I was required to turn to other countries for assistance. A bit of covert investigation in trade records revealed that all of our nitroglycerin is carefully imported from Yugoslothvia, a dictatorship which apparently formed four hundred years ago.

Interest in this relatively new land, together with the need to obtain illegal material for my own nefarious purposes, prompted me to venture outside for the first time in days to visit the Yugoslothvian embassy in Canterlot. There I was fortunate to come across their chief ambassador, Indola, a surprisingly well-groomed fellow. My previous experiences with sloths had given me the expectation of all their race being a group of apathetic ruffians, so to see such a sloth as Indola was a pleasant surprise.

"Yes, the land of sloths is certainly more civilized than what you were once used to," he told me once pleasantries had been exchanged. "Nobody goes hungry, for one thing. We make certain of that. Very certain."

"Sir!" His secretary peered into the room, brandishing a hefty file. "We've got some more complaints about working conditions for the ninety-nine percent! They've added 'loss of meaning' to the list of grievances!"

"Must I tell you again that those complaints make an excellent fertilizer?" He sighed coolly as the secretary abashedly took her leave. "I apologize, Princess. Many of my inferiors here are new."

"Quite all right. What is the trouble, if I may ask?"

"There has been another strike in the nitroglycerin mines. The workers are, once again, protesting Father Folivus' policies. It seems there is no pleasing them, despite their consistently raised wages."

This was, of course, irrelevant to my interests, but I decided to humor him. "My condolences to your dictator. How do you think this will this affect the nitroglycerin trade?"

"It'll be for the worse, I believe. We already require a hefty percentage for the population's intake, and our relations with the rhinoceroses is currently strained after the latest treaty. No other land shows much interest in our chief export, unfortunately."

My opportunity had come, and so I struck. "Would you be willing to sell your unused quantities to me?"

"Unlikely, Your Highness. Unless I am quite mistaken, Equestria is not permitted to own nitroglycerin under most circumstances, so I'm afraid there's little to be done."

"Not to Equestria," I said, "but to me. I am quite interested in the potential research applications in various materials discovered after my little incident. I am something of a scientist, you might say, and I assure you that no other would benefit from it."

His dark eyes glittered. "Our private channels aren't exactly inexpensive."

"Name your price. I shall match it."

"Very well."

We negotiated somewhat on the price of the nitroglycerin, and eventually I fairly emptied my allowance to satisfy his demands. Nevertheless, I did not fret. The fact that I could obtain the marvelous substance at all was enough to sate my desire. He promised that I would receive it as soon as the trains would allow, and with that happy statement in my ears I departed.

Upon my return to the palace I encountered Mi Amore Cadenza, who appeared to have just finished up another bout of tennis. "You're up to something," she said, wiping her brow. "I can feel it."

"My dear niece, surely you know me well enough by now to understand that at no point am I _not_ up to something. This is no probability, but rather a certainty, so be at ease. How was your practice?"

"It went okay," she admitted. "My trainer sure isn't easing up on me."

"Remember to imbibe a great deal of water," I reminded her. "Even if you are my sworn nemesis, it is best that you do not dehydrate yourself."

"That's exactly what I was planning on doing. Thanks anyway though."

There was a moment of silence. A guard coughed somewhere.

"Well, I must go," I said at length. "Supper calls my name, and after the events of the day I could certainly use sustenance to carry me through my night."

"And what events are those?"

"That, Mi Amore Cadenza, shall remain a curiosity to thee." I smiled beatifically as I trotted away.

With that minor victory past me, I only must need await the arrival of the nitroglycerin. What I shall do in the meantime, I do not know. Surely something will come to pass.


	17. Entry Seventeen

_July 7, 1000 ANM_

Today, whilst anxiously anticipating the arrival of my nitroglycerin shipment, I was approached by Blueblood, who claimed that there was really something I ought to know.

"What plagues your mind?" I asked him, looking in the mirror at my sad solid hair in dismay. Sister Dearest has assured me that my stars will grow back, but as of yet I have seen not a trace of them. I suppose I must give the situation some time.

"Mother," said he, "when you claim your rightful place on the tyrant's throne, there is something you are required to be very, very good at. It is, of course, chess."

"Chess?" I repeated. The name was familiar, of course, but a thousand years ago it had been a rather obscure game, to the point where few instances were played within Equestrian borders. "Why chess?"

"It's simply how it's done these days. If anypony holds a position of absolute power, they are required by tradition to be a master of chess."

I frowned at that statement. "I am quite unfamiliar with such a tradition."

"Well, I suppose it's not so much a tradition as it is an expectation. It symbolizes how you think strategically, as well as what sacrifices you're willing to make to reach your ultimate goal. To be good at chess is to be not merely be powerful, but also shrewd and good at planning."

"I dislike the term 'shrewd'," I said plaintively. "It contains the word 'shrew', which of course does not fit me in the slightest degree. But I suppose that if it is such a necessity, I will have to endure it. Shall we practice immediately?"

"But of course." He levitated a chessboard from who knew where. "Auntie would make a far better tutor than myself, I must admit; yet we cannot give her any room for suspicion."

"A fair point. Let us commence!"

We set up the board in a timely fashion, and I of course received the black pieces. Blueblood's white soldiers loomed on the other side of that square-patterned field, and it occurred to me that I could not quite remember which pieces could accomplish which specific action.

"White goes first." He pushed one of the short ones in the front two spaces forward.

I stared down at my side, wondering what I should do. Suddenly, a marvelous idea came to me. With haste I seized one of the pony-headed pieces and slammed it against Blueblood's king, causing the unfortunate object to spin through the air before colliding against the floor with a loud clack.

"Checkmate!" I crowed, leaping to my feet in victory. How could I have ever thought ill of this game? It was such a simple thing, really, certainly not worth much of a bother. How easy it was to ascend to the rank of chess master and, by extension, the glory of dictatorship!

Blueblood buried his face in his hooves. "No, Mother. That's not how it ... no."

I paused, excitement draining from my limbs. "What do you mean, 'no'? Is it not the point of the game to conquer the tall ones with the crosses?"

"Not exactly, I'm afraid. The goal is to trap the ... tall ones with the crosses, so that they can't move to any adjacent square without getting captured. That's what a checkmate is."

"But what about directly endangering them?"

"That's called check, Mother."

"Well then, pardon me. Check!"

He made an odd strangled sound that I had never heard before. "That's not how check works, either. It's a gradual process. One does not simply leap across the entire board. Do you at least remember how the pieces move?"

"I know the castles travel diagonally. As to the rest, I fear that ... I love that I am not sure."

A wide grin stretched his face. It was not the grin of a stallion playing a relaxing game with his mother. When he spoke next, it was through gritted teeth. "I suppose this is going to take longer than I thought."

"Oh, that is no trouble! Teach me what you know about these little creatures of stone. What function does the knobby one serve?"

It took me two hours, but I eventually came to know the names and motions of each individual piece. The pawns are, of course, aptly named, for they serve no purpose but to become willing sacrifices. I mentally discard those. The rooks are certainly more useful, for they can barrel directly from one side of the board to the other in their thirst for blood. Bishops are much the same, except that they travel in different directions. The knights do not deserve their noble pony heads, for their methods of movement are inconsistent and apt to change depending on the situation. Them I shall move directly into the line of fire. The queen is naturally the greatest of all pieces, for she can sweep about the field in whichever way she likes, leaving naught but destruction in her wake. Next to her radiant glory, the king is but a pittance. Why he is so crucial to the game is a mysterious matter; I suppose there is a valuable lesson in there somewhere, but I cannot fathom what it might be.

Blueblood then taught me a maneuver called the Fool's Mate, a method by which a player can be checkmated in a mere two moves. I mastered it easily enough, despite having the color unfavorable to its execution. What confused me was his reasoning for flipping the board and storming off upon checkmating me for the tenth time in a row. Was he not eager to teach me this game? It seems that his mood swings unreasonably. I shall have to talk to Sister Dearest about him.

Still, I suppose this chess phenomenon is more interesting than I thought. Its rules are complicated, and its strategies doubly so, but I cannot doubt Blueblood's judgment. I must learn more about this game in order to overthrow Sister Dearest. Somehow, for odd reasons, it is will be a critical part of my regime, for better or for worse. I shall have to know more ways of being checkmated, for the point of the game is not to win, but to see how the enemy wins. It will be useful to know, though exactly how it will be useful will take time to understand. No matter. I am many things, but impatient is not one of them.


	18. Entry Eighteen

_July 8, 1000 ANM_

I meant to further my crusade in the research of nitroglycerin today, but at breakfast Sister Dearest pulled my attention away with that saccharine coaxing of hers. It would not do, she claimed, to have a princess of Equestria lounge about like a pompous cat while the servants carried out all of the work. It would undermine the meaning of her position, after all, for what good is a princess who does not directly run her kingdom?

"And besides," she added as an afterthought, "such a habit would force the land to transform into a bureaucracy, and I'm sure you remember how much I detest bureaus of any kind. They create more problems than they solve, and in the end there's only a lot of angry ponies without any answers. Change is best instigated by one who has seen and understood every side of the problem, not just those she personally prefers."

"This philosophy is all very well and good," I said dryly after swallowing another forkful of waffle. Waffles are a most noble invention, and I must make it my duty to retroactively knight their creator. "But where are you going with this train of thought, pray tell? Surely you understand that I am not yet restored to my former glory, and am therefore unbound from any serious obligation of political workings until such a time comes upon us?"

"On the contrary! The sooner you resume your royal duties, the easier they will become when you have reached your proper size. Practice makes perfect, little sister. I was actually thinking that you might be interested in running court for the day."

I nearly choked on my water. "Court? You mean your bright and shimmering day court, which you have apparently run unceasingly since my indiscretion? Why should I not restore the night court instead?"

"I was thinking about that," she admitted. "But it seems like you've gotten into the habit of sleeping through the night, and I wouldn't dream of disturbing your schedule."

"'Tis not an error on my part!" I fumed. "I am weakened, and require respite. That such respite occurs during the moonlit hours is an unfortunate coincidence. Nevertheless, I suppose you will badger me until I agree to this ridiculous scheme. Are you really so desperate for a vacation?"

She shook her head, smiling. "Don't think of it as a vacation, Luna. 'Vacation' implies an extended absence, and that will certainly not be the case. Think of it as more of a rest."

"A rest, is it?" I grumbled, eyeing the puddle of maple syrup staining my plate. "And what of my resting? Am I not entitled to an unambitious goal of regaining my strength?"

"You'll only be sitting in the throne, listening to ponies talk about themselves. It's not as if you're competing in a marathon. Just be sensible, and it will be easier than you ever dreamed."

I certainly was dreaming half an hour later, sitting on the great throne in a languishing state with my poor wings mashed uncomfortably against the back. My wish that Blueblood might rescue me from this unimaginable torment remained far from granted, and the chatter of the kiwi-selling pony remained a constant drone in my ears.

"... but Lemon Hearts' stall still takes up exactly two feet of my space at the market, and of course she's getting additional business thanks to her expanded base of operations. Therefore, your highness, I respectfully request a loan of two thousand bits to refurbish my property and buy more supplies for my farm."

"Why do you not request a loan from a bank instead? I may not be entirely familiar with the minutiae of the modern day society, but I feel reasonably assured that in this one aspect things have not changed."

"Well, the banks never listen to my story. Princess Celestia does, and she understands the things I'm going through right now. I've told her this before."

"Yet she is wise enough to withhold any investment. How many times have you come begging for money?" I glanced that the mare's record. "Six, is it? Why did you not discover the futility of this endeavor after the first time?"

At least she had the presence of mind to look properly abashed.

"Hear my decree," I stated proudly. "In the future, you shall not seek any loan for the purpose stated, be it from my sister or any other pony. Instead, you shall approach this Lemon Hearts and, speaking in a quite cordial manner, respectfully request that she remove her goods from your area. If what you say is true, the increased selling space will provide enough of a profit increase to render any requirement for extra kiwi-planting equipment negligible."

She nodded thoughtfully, then rubbed her chin and frowned. "But what if she says no?"

"Then undoubtedly your patience will have reached its end, so you cannot blame me when you masterfully squeeze the juice from her own lemons into her eyes before the entire marketplace."

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I saw her shivering as she departed. I am not certain as to why. The season is summer, and the chill of icy winds is yet far off.

She was swiftly replaced by a rather boastful unicorn clad in foalish magician's attire. Somehow she managed to drag an entire stage into the throne room, and upon leaping onto its creaking planks demanded that Sister Dearest emerge from wherever she was hiding so that she could witness a show of spectacular splendor.

"Princess Celestia is unavailable today," I told her. "Instead, you may discuss your matters with me."

"How dare you!" she shrieked in a voice so sour that for a moment I wondered if this was Lemon Hearts. "The Great and Powerful Trixie did not travel to the palace to speak with some puny pretender! Bring out the princess, maid, before Trixie blinds you with her magical might!"

"Pretender, you call me?" I snapped, flaring my aching wings. "Grant my visage with more than a cursory glance, and tell me: who is the superior here, little pony?"

Her blue face turned as white as her mane. "P-princess Luna? Oh, well, this is new. I merely wanted to speak with the highest authority of Equestria, not her little sister. Send her out here to meet me, won't you?"

I gritted my teeth. "What you would tell Princess Celestia, you may repeat to me."

She tossed her mane, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. "Hmmph. Trixie doesn't wish to _tell_ anything. She merely wants to _show_ Princess Celestia the wonders of her prowess, as she has done consistently for the past several weeks! When you are as accomplished a mage as Trixie, perhaps you will understand how much she deserves to secure a place in Canterlot Palace!"

The insufferable pony then launched into what could charitably be called a performance. Fireworks skipped across the air, nearly catching several tapestries on fire in the desperation to relay tall tales. Vases found themselves devoid of flowers. Clouds spun in midair, drenching the carpet with their sweet tears.

Several minutes of this nonsense passed before I found my patience sufficiently sapped, and I leapt to my hooves in my eagerness to confront this upstart. "That is enough! Pray tell, what is the purpose in this waste of time? Cease your practicing and make haste with the bulk of your performance!"

She paused in her boasting, a look of puzzlement flitting across your face. "What do you mean? This _is_ Trixie's performance. Don't you quiver in awe at the great and powerful feats of magic I can accomplish?"

I burst out laughing, not heeding her indignation. "You boast of this? This is but foal's play!" I gasped, wiping a tear from my gracious eye. "The jesters of ages past were far more competent in their magic. At no point did they resort to petty parlor tricks such as these."

"Jester?" she snarled. "I don't want to be your jester, you ruffian! I want to be court mage!"

My humor vanished as quickly as it had come. "Listen, you imbecile! Of all the unicorns I have ever encountered, your prowess ranks close to the bottom of them all. Few ponies can impress me, even in this day and age, and you were unfortunate today to be met with honesty rather than kindness. Pack your horse-cart and depart from my sight."

She huffed, undeterred by my anger. "But what, 'pray tell', _would_ impress you?"

"Ask not for specific statistics. It is not as though I keep a list of the most accomplished mages of the land under my bed," I lied. "Nevertheless, there is but one mortal pony whose magic I fear ... I love. Her smallest feats put your most valiant efforts to shame, and to antagonize her would spell utter defeat. You, however, have earned no such luxury. Now depart!"

"One pony?" she repeated, a sly look coming into her eye. "And where is this one pony who dares to affront the Great and Powerful Trixie?"

"She resides in Ponyville, of course, but ..."

I trailed off, witnessing in disbelief as the stage was packed and whisked off in record time. What possessed that braggart unicorn to ask such questions I shall never know, but at the least she has removed herself from my precious mane. At the least I shall never hear of her again.

Not yet had noon come, yet I was already exhausted, so I removed myself from the throne room. How Sister Dearest can negotiate with these common ponies is a mystery for the ages, and I shall fittingly let her deal with such situations. Night court will undoubtedly be less of a hassle, but for now I shall take my rest early. Surely Blueblood will not mind terribly when I miss our appointment of chess lessons. Do we not have all the time in the world?


End file.
